


Let's Not Talk About It

by hannah_baker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Divergent, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Miscommunication, Self Pity, rom com bs, wallowing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:06:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1314187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t have a platonic romantic relationship,” Scott said when Stiles had tried to explain what had happened the previous night.</p><p>“I’m not saying it’s platonic. Obviously making out isn’t platonic. But it’s not like, romantic. I’m not waxing poetic about his gorgeous hazel eyes or how ridiculous his biceps are-”</p><p>“Really?” Scott asked, interrupting him. “Because it sounds like you are.” </p><p>Or, the one where Stiles' relationship problems could be solved so easily by talking about it. So naturally he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Not Talk About It

**Author's Note:**

> Just feeding my desire to write some miscommunication/romantic comedy BS. Ye olde "answering one fucking question completely will literally solve everything," AKA, the plot of season one, hah. 
> 
> Allison, Scott, and Isaac are in the poly relationship of my dreams - the poly relationship that should have been. 
> 
> This is set post 3a, non-3b canon compliant. 
> 
> Oh, and there's a little Stiles/Lydia, but it's all in the past, not romanticized, and everyone is pretty thoroughly over it.

The first person Stiles Stilinski wanted to turn to with his freshly minted broken heart was Scott McCall.

However, Scott was busy. And hey, Stiles didn’t blame him. It was date night, which is apparently a lot of work when you’re trying to negotiate how your brand new poly relationship is going to work. Stiles refused to feel bitterness at the thought of Scott banging two people who are hopeless for his dick when Stiles was, well, still clinging to his virginity, for whatever reasons. No, really. Stiles was happy for him. Somewhere. Somewhere in the depths of his broken heart was a sense of pride that his best buddy was getting the D and the V at the same time.

Date night also crosses Isaac and Allison off the list of people Stiles could complain to - not that he would have called Isaac anyway. Lydia is off the list, as she is the heartbreaker in this situation, and while Stiles may be a little bit of a masochist (at least insofar as he likes the idea of getting spanked) he does not need Lydia telling him again all the reasons why he can’t be her boyfriend, a handful of amazing make outs notwithstanding.

Boyd is dead, Erica is dead, Cora is in South America. Jackson has remained, mercifully, in London. Stiles was sure his dad wouldn’t let him drink during his pity party, so he’s off the list too.

Which is how he finds himself in the lobby of Derek’s sleek new apartment building, half a bottle of Jack in his backpack, pushing the intercom button for D. Hale. Peter probably picked this place out for him - Stiles tried to imagine any of Derek’s previous abodes having an intercom/buzzer security system.

“What do you want, Stiles,” Derek said, voice raspy but obviously exasperated over the intercom.

“How’d you know it was me?” Stiles asked surprised, temporarily pulled out of his misery by the idea that Derek can somehow just sense him. Did they have some kind of magical connection he wasn’t aware of?  
  
“There’s a video feed of the lobby,” Derek said, and the magic was gone. Back to moping.

“Jesus, did Peter pick this place out or something?” Stiles asked, voicing his suspicions. Although he too might invest in a video feed if his previous alarm system only went off when a pack of alpha werewolves was pretty much already in his apartment.

“Why are you here, Stiles?” Derek said, voice straightforward. Stiles cut to the chase.

“I’m in need of bro time and Scott is having crazy porn star sex,” he whined. “I have booze.”

Derek buzzed him in.

Stiles rode the elevator up to the eleventh floor, six floors from the top, and walked down the long hallway to the apartment in the far south corner. Derek opened the door for him before he knocked.

Derek still didn’t have a lot of things. His apartment obviously came furnished. It was a little ostentatious, expensive looking, but Stiles was honestly just glad Derek had a real door now. Derek looked different in it, older somehow, and Stiles was still trying to make “adult” and “Derek” exist together in his mind. It was difficult.

“Lydia dumped me,” Stiles said, the corners of his mouth sinking into a pout that felt like it belonged on his face. Like he’d been born to pout. It had been a hard hour and a half since he’d been dumped, he was aloud to frown. “Or, well, she told me that I couldn’t be her boyfriend and that if that’s what I wanted from her, then we had to stop making out.”

“Did you need to be her boyfriend?” Derek asked, as he walked further back into his apartment to the kitchen and got down a couple highballs and put a single big chunk of ice in the bottom of both of them. Stiles trailed after him. Derek pulled a bottle of expensive bourbon from his cupboard, ignoring the shitty bottle of whatever Stiles thought was acceptable liquor, and poured them each a drink. He gave Stiles the lighter pour.

“I needed something more than between-classes make outs,” Stiles said. “And apparently I’m not a casual sex guy as I found out tonight.”

“What made you think you could have casual sex?” Derek said.

“I resent that,” Stiles spat back, knocking back half his drink in one gulp. He was slowly getting used to the warm way liquor burned the front of his face as it went down.   
  
“That’s expensive. You’re supposed to sip it,” Derek said. “You know yourself better than to think you would be in for a casual relationship.”

“You can sip your expensive ‘I don’t get drunk I just like the taste of whiskey’ shit, and I’ll stick to Mr. Daniels,” Stiles said, finishing off his glass and pulling his own bottle from his backpack. Derek swiped it from out of his hand. “And why can’t I? I mean, apparently I can’t but, like, why?” Stiles lamented his apparently monogamy-hungry dick. Seriously. What the hell was wrong with him.   
  
“You’re not getting drunk here,” Derek said and shoved the bottle into his cupboard next to his own collection. Stiles said nothing. He just ditched his empty cup on the counter and wandered into the living room, flopping his body down on Derek’s couch. His previous couch had spent more than one night in an alley. Anything was an upgrade, even the modern angles of whatever black leather and chrome bullshit filled his living room.

“And you’re too loyal for that,” Derek said, then clarified, “casual sex.” The thing Stiles had learned about Derek in the past month-ish since he made his return to Beacon Hills was that Derek actually paid a lot of attention. He remembered what he was told, and was good at making connections to fill in the bits he wasn’t told. He actually knew Stiles and his crew pretty well.

“When faced with the reality of almost having sex with Lydia Martin but two short hours ago, I couldn’t make myself do it. Like, she was this thing I built up in my head and then she was a real person and - I don’t know dude. You know?” He twisted his head to find Derek hovering in the doorway of the kitchen. “I thought we were going to have our first actual date, but then she just wanted sex. I can’t believe I was actually disappointed by that.”

Derek rolled his eyes and followed him into the living room, sinking down in the chair by the couch, his drink still in hand. “Unless your girl problems involve corpses, I really can’t relate to you,” he said plainly, and Stiles couldn’t help but burst into laughter. “She was your hopeless crush, right?”

“Totally hopeless. I was on a ten year plan to win her heart,” Stiles explained, letting his misery dictate his hyperbole.

“You should let go of the concept of romance. You fall in love with a girl, you let her have your virginity, she burns down your house. Or she’s a serial killing psychopath. Find someone you trust and don’t hate. That’s my plan.” Derek’s delivery was dry, but honest. It was like he was talking about his feelings without actually talking about his feelings.

“You have a plan?” Stiles asked, mouth agape as he twisted his body into a sitting position so he could fix a stare on Derek.

“There are seven billion people on this planet,” he said simply. “It doesn’t have to be complicated.” His statement sounded practiced, like he said it to himself in the mirror every morning. Like Cora made him repeat it to her over and over before she let him out of her sight again.

“I’m not sure whether to focus my energy on the fact that you still have hope, or the fact that you’re including every person on earth in your search,” Stiles replied, his curiosity thoroughly peaked. He was addicted to the little Derek Hale puzzle pieces he’d been putting together over the last year - the last four weeks since he came back to Beacon Hills in particular. Lydia who?

“I’m not actually searching right now. But I’ve thought about it. Children obviously don’t count,” Derek said with an eyeroll. He took a theatrically long suffering sip of his drink. “Or the elderly.”

“But boys count,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at him.

Derek sighed. “Yes Stiles, boys count.”

“They count for me too,” he said, aiming for nonchalance. And missing pretty blatantly. Derek chuckled.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Derek said, grabbing the remote off the coffee table and turning on the largest flat screen TV Stiles had ever seen outside of a Best Buy. “One of my qualifications is ‘someone I don’t hate.’”

“But the other is trust, buddy. You trust me so much it’s not even funny anymore.” The smile Stiles fixed on Derek was big and honest. He wasn’t really trying to get into Derek’s pants, but flirting never hurt anyone. They had a thing going, and Stiles was calling it friendship, damnit.

“You can stay and nurse your broken heart and metabolize the drink you had,” Derek said. Stiles almost thought it was a generous offer, considering the fact that he’d just dropped in on him with his tale of woe. “I’m picking the movie.”

“And I’m picking the pizza toppings,” Stiles said, pulling out his cell phone to Yelp a pizza place that would deliver. He mouthed _credit card_ at Derek and was pleasantly surprised when Derek pulled his wallet out of his pocket and slipped out a card. That wasn’t hate, Stiles thought as he rattled off Derek’s card number to the woman on the phone.

-

Derek’s apartment building was a twenty minute drive from his house, and Stiles surprised himself with how easily - and often - he justified making that drive. Derek and Scott were getting to a friendly place, and it was nice to have a space to hang out with no parents, as well meaning as all of theirs were (although then he thought about why there were no parents watching over Derek and had the wherewithal to feel like kind of an asshole about it).

Plus there was a security system that kept Peter out.

However, as much as he loved Scott and Allison, and as hard as he was trying to get along with Isaac, being around any combination of the three of them was too much for Stiles to handle. And Derek for that matter.

“Get out, both of you,” he barked at Isaac and Scott after trying to give gentle hints that making out on the couch during It’s Always Sunny in Philidelphia is not polite. Isaac had his hand pretty far up Scott’s shirt, and good lord. It was making Stiles wish for the days when Scott was head-over-heels for just Allison. Just one person to moon over and stick his dick in.

At least Scott blushed a little on the way out, while Isaac made it quite clear to everyone in the room what his intentions with Scott’s body were. Scott was Stiles’ brother. He couldn’t handle that. What was worse was that he couldn’t help the fact that the hot-and-heavy making out that was going on next to him on the couch made him a little horny.

“Another day in the life of Stiles Stilinski. My best friend is not only the Batman to my apparent Robin but also the Don Juan to my 40 Year Old Virgin,” the lament felt fresh in the wake of their leaving.

“Which Robin are you?” Derek asked casually. He wasn’t a big comic nerd, but he knew about Batman. Stiles wasn’t about to probe into his fixation. He didn’t need to in order to understand how Derek related to him.

“Whattdaya mean?” Stiles asked, slouching deeper into Derek’s couch.

“Dick Grayson or Jason Todd?” Derek’s eyebrow quirked up at him.

“You’re expecting me to say Jason Todd, because Scott is the Dick Grayson to his own Batman, and I would totally be cool with guns. But I’m just gonna throw you a curveball here and let you know that my favorite Batman sidekick is Batgirl. Barbara Gordon. So suck it.”

“Because of her intelligence,” Derek assumed.  
  
“Well I’m not about to win any trapeze awards, that’s for sure,” Stiles said. “Though as soon as I declare my fear of heights some asshole will come kidnap me and duct tape me to the top of the tallest building in Gotham, but whatever. I’m afraid of heights.”

“I’d come get you,” Derek said, shooting Stiles a look that was relaxed and almost affectionate, and in that moment Stiles realized that he very well may be the person Derek trusts more than anyone.

“Maybe I’ll grab a roll of duct tape and steal myself into the night then,” Stiles said, pushing Derek’s flirt back to him.

“You don’t have to put that much effort into it if you want it.” Derek’s voice was soft, almost shy. The Derek who came back to Beacon Hills after the Jennifer Blake incident was a different Derek. He’d let Cora go again, but it was like having some one-on-one Hale time had settled something in him. He seemed more human, less monster.

“Well then what would I have to do?” Stiles was more curious about making out with someone with a beard than anything. Plus Derek was perhaps the most objectively attractive person in Beacon Hills. And he’d heard Derek’s relationship advice. Trust first. He trusted Derek. Kissing him didn’t mean they’d have to get married or anything.

“Come here,” Derek said, tipping his head back in a sexy come-hither that made something in Stiles’ stomach drop. He couldn’t help his uncoordinated scramble off the couch as he moved toward Derek’s chair. It was plush and big, and Derek grabbed his hand and helped guide Stiles down to settle on his lap.

Derek’s careful gaze made Stiles’ cheeks burn. Derek let his fingers trail the path of Stiles’ jaw delicately as his eyes washed over him, slow, like something precious. Lydia had never looked at him that way, that was for sure.

Their lips connected slow and soft, and the similarity between Lydia and Derek’s kissing style was apparent - Stiles was solidly in the passenger seat. Derek’s lips were full and lush, and he tasted faintly of the bourbon he liked. His fingertips held Stiles’ chin delicately in place more effectively than a vice grip, tilting his face gently to get the perfect angle for each kiss.

Stiles’ hands rested limp on Derek’s shoulders, but he didn’t give a shit. The kiss was too intense to calculate a grope at that moment. Groping could wait.

Derek’s hands dropped from Stiles’ face to his hips, pulling him close and dominating his mouth. Stiles let his arms curl around Derek’s shoulders, letting his body weight sink him further into the kiss.

It was delicious, feeling Derek’s body beneath him. Stiles had never kissed a boy before, much less a man, and Derek’s body was exactly the opposite of the female adolescents with whom he’d gained his previous experience. Derek’s hands were strong and large and hot on his hips, sending sparks up his spine when fingertips slipped up under the hem of his t-shirt. He knew Derek could rip him to pieces. He could feel the kinetic energy under Derek’s skin. But he could also feel Derek’s control.

Stiles felt safe in his embrace, safe in the little sounds of pleasure that were coming from Derek, safe when Derek’s hand came up to gently cup the back of his head while the other hooked around his waist.

Derek kissed Stiles for ages, until he could barely feel his mouth, until he needed help getting out of Derek’s lap. His legs were on the edge of falling asleep from the way he’d been straddling him, but Derek steadied him with a hand on the small of his back. He stayed close as Stiles got his bearings.

It had never crossed his mind that he would see Derek Hale like this, relaxed and soft-eyed as he waited for Stiles to move. “Do you want me to go home?” Stiles asked awkwardly, looking up at the clock on the wall to see that they had spent almost an hour lost in their kiss - so long that Stiles mourned the loss of body heat and the way Derek’s hands trailed slowly up and down his sides.

“I don’t want you to go anywhere,” Derek said, his voice rough, as though making out with Stiles had taken a lot out of him. Stiles paused. Derek’s lips were swollen and he had done that. He felt like that should be a breaking news headline somewhere in the world. Stiles didn’t have enough twitter followers to do the news justice on his own. Derek’s breathing was steady but labored, his hair all over the place, lids low with residual lust.

“Curfew,” Stiles said quietly, his focus almost completely on how far away seven inches between two bodies felt when he wanted zero.

Derek kissed him at the door, just a chaste brush of his lips, and Stiles’ knees trembled. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Derek said quietly into his mouth. Stiles irrationally wanted to hold that breath in, to keep those words. It wasn’t a declaration of anything, or a promise. This wasn’t a romance. But it could be nice, having someone to kiss. And maybe it could help him get over whatever road block he had with having sex with Lydia. Sex with Derek wouldn’t be romantic, but it also wouldn’t be casual. He’d liked kissing Derek. He felt safe. It seemed like a pretty good plan to him.

-

“You can’t have a platonic romantic relationship,” Scott said when Stiles had tried to explain what had happened the previous night. They were running errands for Melissa in a thinly veiled attempt at getting back on her good side after they had accidentally broken the front living room window. For the second time.

“I’m not saying it’s platonic. Obviously making out isn’t platonic. But it’s not like, romantic. I’m not waxing poetic about his gorgeous hazel eyes or how ridiculous his biceps are-”  
  
“Really?” Scott asked, interrupting him. “Because it sounds like you are.”

“I’m just giving an example of what it could be like if I was romantically attracted to him. I’m just physically attracted to him. And I told you about his theory of dating, right?” Stiles was driving away from the grocery store toward the dry cleaner. That was another part of the apology - a promise that her car would be her car for the whole month. Scott would get around on his bike, or get Stiles to drive him when they had cargo, like groceries.

“I can’t believe you are taking romance advice from him,” Scott groaned.

“I understand, dude. Kate, Miss Blake, whatever. But it makes sense, right? Your heart makes you blind to people’s faults, or in Derek’s case makes him blind to the murderous rage that apparently adds a pleasing glow to the complexion. Whatever. We don’t have to worry about that bullshit. I trust him, you know? And he’s a good kisser. I feel like this could be a good thing.” Stiles worried the dial on the radio, even though it was turned so low he almost couldn’t hear it. Scott batted his hand away to correct the frequency.

“And then one of you will get romantic feelings and the other will get hurt. How is this not on the list of concerns right now?” Allison had done a lot of research on interpersonal relationship communication. Meaning she had a well-used account on a poly message board. Scott was all about open relationship communication right now.

“This is just going to be an easy thing, dude. A little physical relationship, no worries about buying roses. It’ll be easy.”

-

The next three weeks were easy. When he was with Derek it was amazing. Derek was affectionate in a way that Stiles hadn’t expected, like being in the same room with Stiles without touching him was painful, or impossible. Stiles learned how good Derek was with his body, whether that meant figuring out the most comfortable way to arrange themselves on the couch to watch a movie, or how deft and talented his hands were when Stiles’ back ached from when Greenburg had tackled him at practice.

Whatever they had going on wasn’t a secret either, which was a relief to Stiles. He didn’t have to act differently around Derek when they were around other people. Derek still kept him close when they weren’t alone. An arm around his shoulders, or their fingers tangled together casually. They just saved the making out for when they were alone.

And it was only making out. And a little heavy petting, let’s be real.

It was so nice and easy that Stiles began to let his guard down. It was the Saturday night after midterms when Stiles forgot to set his “leave Derek’s now to get home before curfew” alarm on his phone. Derek cooked him dinner, just some pasta, nothing radical, and they ate in front of the TV. They decided to marathon old episodes of the X-Files to make themselves feel better about their lives.

Stiles was full of pasta, content, and warm. Derek had twisted their bodies together on the couch and was absently playing with the short hairs on the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles let himself sink into the feeling that Derek was the only other person on earth. If this were true, Stiles thought he’d be pretty okay with it. He was tired enough that processing that thought wasn’t at the top of his to-do list.

The full, warm, and sleepy combination was a recipe for disaster.

He woke hours later to the sound of his phone ringing, the buzzing making it clatter across the hard glass top of Derek’s coffee table.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed against Derek’s chest as they both grappled with their consciousness. Derek grabbed his phone and pressed it into his hand. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he whispered under his breath as he answered the call. “Hey, Dad.” At least his voice was convincingly raspy with sleep.

“Hey kid, I just drove by the house, no Jeep in the driveway. Where are you?” His dad’s voice was concerned but also distracted. Stiles could hear his scanner in the background.

“I’m at Derek’s,” he explained, happy that he hadn’t exactly disclosed the nature of his and Derek’s relationship yet, even if they weren’t technically boyfriends or whatever. Stiles still didn’t really know what they were. “I fell asleep accidentally.”

“Well we’ve pulled over three drunk drivers tonight so far, and it’s twenty minutes to bar close. You’d better stay where you are,” his dad said. “If it’s okay with Derek.” He didn’t sound like he was angry…

“Of course you can stay,” Derek said, trying to paw Stiles back to where he’d been cuddled against his chest. Stiles’ sleepy body complied.

“Yeah I’m good, Dad,” he said, the warmth of Derek lulling him slowly back to sleep. Derek hung up his call and hoisted him cruelly off the couch.

“No, no, I’m sleeping,” Stiles whined, as Derek forced him to walk down the hall to his room. They didn’t spend much time in Derek’s room - Stiles thought it was because Derek was staunchly trying to keep him virginized forever - so Stiles wasn’t adept at navigating it on his own. He hit his shin on the edge of Derek’s bed frame on the way to the bathroom and was immediately a little more awake.

“You can use my toothbrush if you need to,” Derek said, and while the offer was sweet, Stiles couldn’t imagine the feelings he’d have to have for someone to want to use their toothbrush. He just gargled with some mouthwash and called it good.

Derek helped him struggle out of his flannel and khakis and threw a pair of sweats to him that were so soft on the inside that Stiles had to wonder if they’d ever been washed. Derek’s toothbrush? Gross. Derek-scented cozy soft PJ’s? Yes, please. Derek just stripped down to his boxer briefs and pulled back the bedding before pushing Stiles into it and crawling in after.

Derek manhandled him so his back fit snugly against his chest, mouthed a quiet ‘Night against his neck and fell straight to sleep. Asshole. Stiles wished it was that easy for him. He was tired, but now his shin was throbbing and he was terribly fixated on the fact that this was the first night he was spending in someone else’s bed. Someone who wasn’t Scott. Derek likely would have been able to suss it out on his own had he cause to think about, but this was a Moment.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark of Derek’s room, lit by the soft aqua glow of the alarm clock that hadn’t been set for the morning. Derek’s room had a little more personality than the rest of his apartment, and Stiles’ heart ached when he spotted a collection of photographs on Derek’s dresser. He could just barely make out one of two girls, one of whom was Cora.

Sleeping next to Derek was exciting in a quiet, almost mundane way. A warm body wrapped around his own. It was nice. But the longer Stiles struggled to get to sleep the longer he thought about how much Derek must trust him to be asleep, unguarded, and completely vulnerable around him. It set off a spark in his stomach that Stiles recognized as being far from their platonic-makeout-boyfriends deal.

He let his mind wander to the future, to the prospect of keeping Derek. He thought about how it would be hard when he went away to college (unless Derek came with him) and about how sweet he would look holding a baby. Something about imagining them together was comforting, and he fell asleep just short of thinking about what Scott would say in his best man speech.

-

“Fuck,” Derek said, waking Stiles just by shifting away from him. Stiles whined low, far back in his throat, and tried to nuzzle back into Derek’s chest. “It’s almost noon,” Derek said, pushing Stiles onto his back, his face hovering close over his. “Wake up,” he said with a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.

Stiles pulled their bodies flush, feeling Derek’s morning wood against his thigh. He wrapped a hand around his arm and held on tight, knowing that this was the moment when Derek usually pulled away. He’d realized something the night before. He wanted Derek to be the one who took his virginity. He wanted that. And not just to get over Lydia, or get past whatever roadblock he had.

“Stiles,” Derek said, a low warning, no fire behind it.

“Derek,” he responded, a long-fingered hand threading through the hair on the back on Derek’s head before pulling him into a brief kiss. “I want it to be you. Be my first.” His voice wasn’t sexy or plying. He wasn’t trying to seduce Derek into anything. “I trust you.”

Derek smiled down at him, pressed one more kiss to his lips, and pulled away. “I trust you,” he returned, using one hand to push Stiles gently back into the mattress. “But we’re not going to when we both have morning breath and the rumbling of your stomach was what woke me up,” he said. Stiles held on as he tried to pull away.

“But like, later today, right?” Stiles asked.

“You have homework?” Derek asked. He always asked that. Once he made Stiles bring his calculus homework with him when he came to hang out to prove that it was done.

“Only a little,” Stiles lied. He can see it in Derek’s face, the recognition of the lie.

“Let’s go get some breakfast, then you go home and do your homework,” Derek said, retreating into the bathroom for a shower. “And I’ll be good on my promise. Soon.”

Stiles groaned,threw one arm dramatically over his eyes, and pushed his boner down with the other. So close.

-

“Still doesn’t sound platonic to me,” Allison said, after patiently listening to Stiles’ woes during lunch.

“It doesn’t matter how it sounds,” Stiles argued. “We’re just like, physical friends.”

“I’ve seen how he looks at you,” she continued, scraping her spoon at the bottom of her yogurt cup. “It’s the exact same look that Isaac gives Scott. It’s beyond friendly. It’s absolutely adoring. Not to mention the dopey way you return it.”

“You know nothing, Allison Argent,” Stiles said.

“I know plenty about relationships, thank you very much. Besides, you asked. And here is my answer: You’re falling in love with him. And it’s fine. It’s good, actually. The falling. It’s,” she paused for emphasis. “It’s exhilarating. And you shouldn’t deprive yourself that.”

“I’m not going to be the one to bring feelings to the table after it was explicitly set out at the beginning of our relationship that it was just trust and… I dunno. Bodies.” Stiles picked at his fries. They were soggy, uninspired. They were cafeteria fries.

“Firstly, you’re not the only one in your relationship with feelings, I promise you. And secondly, was it explicitly stated? Or are you just reading into something and chickening out of actually asking Derek about it?”

“The fact that we’re having this conversation right now is proof of the chickening,” Stiles said.

“Well, let me tell you a little about relationships, Stiles,” Allison said, the air of because I am now an expert present. “You have to talk about what’s going on with you. You clearly are feeling things that are valid-”

“I never said I was feeling anything,” Stiles said.

“Yes you did,” Allison shot back. “You’re having feelings, and the landscape of your relationship is changing. You owe it to the both of you to talk that through. It’s unfair not to.”

“Please for the love of god stop being right about talking it over,” Stiles whined.

“You’re great at talking,” Allison said. “Lydia told me about the night she ended it. You reportedly articulated yourself very well.”

“That’s because she was dumping me. No hope left. I could very easily fuck this all up by bringing it up.”

“Stop being such a baby,” Allison said, finishing her pizza and standing to take her tray to the trash.

Stiles just dropped his head to the table and stayed like that for a while.

-

Stiles had resolutely decided against talking about it. It didn’t need talking about.

The rest of his week had been unfortunately pretty Derek-free. His dad had begun to question the amount of time he was spending not at home, and so he was making a big show out of cooking dinner and working on his homework at the dining room table as his dad picked through the case he was working on across the table from him. There were no dead bodies, so Stiles wasn’t interested.

Derek texted him a lot though. Just little things throughout the day. Late that Wednesday night his phone buzzed with a ‘wish you were here’ message that made Stiles’ heartbeat pick up. He was getting worried about how bad he had it for Derek. Worried that his feelings were going to fuck everything up. He was determined to keep playing it cool.

The next time he saw Derek was that Friday night. As a reward for staying home all week, his dad had granted him a sleepover, though he had been under the impression that Scott and Isaac were going to be there. The next time Stiles has a sleepover with both Scott and Isaac will be the day he spoons out his eyes and shatters his eardrums. A best friend can only handle so much.

Ugh. He was nervous.

He stopped himself from buying Derek flowers, and instead picked out a novel that he’d been mentioning. Something thick and heavy and literary. It didn’t appeal to Stiles at all. Then he went to the bakery on the way to Derek’s and gets a two-person little fruit tart, which seemed pretty romantic to him, and looked very fancy, thank you very much. He used the rest of the drive to pep-talk himself into keeping things relaxed and keeping his feelings out of this.

Derek looked confused when Stiles opened the door.

“Why does that bakery box have gold ribbon on it?” Derek asked, closing the door behind Stiles, eying him suspiciously.

“Because I got it from Delilah’s, and that place is fancy,” Stiles said, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Is it your birthday?” Derek asked.

“No.”

“Is it Scott’s birthday?”

“You know Scott’s birthday,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted a fancy treat,” he lied.

“Okay,” Derek said, taking the bakery box and putting it in the fridge. Stiles showed him the book in his hands, and set it down on the side table next to the chair he knew Derek liked to read in.

“Hey,” he said, trying to make his eyes do the bedroom thing that he knew drove Derek crazy. He slipped his hoodie off his shoulders and pulled Derek into a kiss.

“Mmmm,” Derek mumbled into Stiles’ lips. “Hey yourself.” Stiles wasn’t going crazy. He wasn’t being too aggressive. He slipped his hands up the back of Derek’s shirt and pressed them flat against Derek’s hot skin. This, so far, was allowed. He was allowed to touch Derek pretty much anywhere, except for places that would be blurred on TV.

Derek held Stiles’ face in his hands, sinking deeper into the kiss that he’d had to wait almost a week for as he felt Stiles’ hands drop lower, one of them ducking below the waist of his jeans, under his underwear to make an unprecedented grope. He could tell he surprised Derek from the stutter in his lips, the small gasp of breath. But Derek didn’t make him stop.

Stiles basked in the feeling of Derek’s bare ass against his own skin. Derek was fit; his ass was sculpted, tight muscle, and Stiles appreciated every fiber of it. Derek pulled him a little closer. Stiles backed him up against the wall of the short hallway to Derek’s room, extracted his hand from Derek’s pants, and got to work on his belt. Derek was a little distracted by the kiss, and didn’t protest until Stiles was on his knees in front of Derek, pulling his jeans off of his hips.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, looking down into Stiles’ doe eyes, bright and needy. Stiles’ red tongue peeked out of his mouth to wet his lips as attractively as possible.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Stiles asked, trying, more than anything, to not sound like such a fucking teenager about it.

“It looks like you’re about to try to do something that we haven’t talked about yet,” Derek said. Derek was being incredibly weird about sex. Stiles couldn’t figure it out.

“We did talk about it. You said you’d take my V card.” It was a moment that Stiles had been playing over and over in his head since last Sunday morning. Waking up next to Derek, Derek promising him that they would have sex, then Derek buying him pancakes and bacon and kissing him so sweetly as he dropped Stiles back off at his car so he could go home and be a responsible student and son.

“Stiles, I,” Derek started, pulling his jeans back onto his hips and zipping them back up. “I don’t think we’re both at the same place with this, and it’s making me a little uncomfortable,” Derek said. Stiles could see the concern in his eyes in a way that was almost older-brotherly, if that was a comparison he could make without wanting to puke. So Derek knew. Derek could tell that Stiles was getting in too deep with this, and he thought they should cut it out. “I think I should tell you -”

“No, it’s okay, I get it,” Stiles said. Never in his life had the act of standing up felt so shameful. He felt dirty and alone and empty. He grabbed his hoodie and put it on with his back turned to Derek.

“Stiles, I don’t think you understand,” Derek said, but Stiles understood perfectly fine.

“Yeah, I said I get it.” Stiles spoke only the stiffest, most awkward words. Words that felt a lot like the ones that he said to Lydia Martin on that day almost two months ago when she’d broken his heart. Though now, in retrospect, the feeling was nowhere near how broken he felt now.   
  
“Hey,” Derek said, walking over to where Stiles was, his hand on Derek’s door knob. “You can still stay and hang out if you want. We can still do that.”

“I’d better go,” Stiles said, needing to leave before Derek saw him cry. Derek moved in to give him a hug, but Stiles rebuffed him with a flat palm out. “Please don’t,” Stiles said, and slipped out the door.

When Lydia had told him that they couldn’t date, it had felt like a complete and total let down. One that pizza and a little booze and one of his bros fixed relatively easily. His heart ached for about a week before he realized that Lydia was a great friend, and that not having sex with her was a good decision.

Stiles stumbled into the elevator of Derek’s building with hot tears streaming down his face. The sobs would come later, when he was alone in his bed at home. He wouldn’t call Scott, or Lydia. He wouldn’t tell his dad about it. The only person he wanted to talk to about it was Derek. And Derek didn’t want him anymore.

-

“I really don’t need an _I-told-you-so_ ,” Stiles said, in the back seat of Allison’s Camry as he tagged along on their Saturday night date. Later they would go back to Allison’s without Stiles, because her dad was out of town at a gun show in Maryland, and Allison had the biggest bed. Until then, they were all suffering from Stiles’ pain.

“And then he just said it was making him uncomfortable and asked me to leave,” Stiles said, his feet up in Scott’s lap, seat belt nowhere to be found. If they got into an accident, he trusted Scott to keep him alive.

“You already told us that,” Isaac said from the passenger seat, and Allison shushed him.

“Why is he here again?” Stiles asked, glaring at him.

“Why are you here? On date night?” Isaac asked back.

“Touché,” Stiles said, pulling the hood up on his sweatshirt defensively.

They pulled into the ice cream shop - Scott’s cure-for-a-broken-heart idea - and got out. Allison bought Isaac’s cone, and Scott bought Stiles’ hot fudge sundae. Stiles almost started crying again.

“Should I have left the fucking fruit tart there? I’m sure he opened it up and saw the fucking fruit tart and thought _sure am glad I dumped that stupid clingy kid_ ,” he lamented, in the middle of the conversation that the rest of them were having ten minutes later at a booth in the back of the shop. Allison looked like she was getting to the edge of her patience, but sipped her shake quietly. Isaac rolled his eyes. Scott patted him on the back.

“And it was because he wasn’t interested?” Allison asked. She wanted all the facts so she could fix things. She was good at fixing things. She wasn’t so great at just listening to him complain.

“Well I was clearly interested. I bought him a book and a fucking fruit tart. I pretty much begged him to let me get on his dick.”

“Too much,” Isaac said. “I don’t want to think about Derek’s dick.”

“I wish I could stop thinking about Derek’s dick,” Stiles said, slumping in his seat even further than he already was. “Or about Derek’s hands, or his scruff, or how it felt to cuddle with him on the couch.”

“Way too much,” Isaac said. “I think it’s actually nearing the end of this portion of the date.” He gave Scott a _please get your friend out of here_ look at the same time that Stiles gave him a _can you believe how rude this guy is??_ look. Scott looked torn.

“Fine,” Stiles said, sipping the last bit of melted ice cream out of the bottom on his dish, and slipping out of the booth. “Drive me home and go have the kind of sex that I will never have in a million years.”

Scott was the only one who blushed.

-

Five more days past. On Thursday night, he got a call from Derek. He resolutely ignored it. Maybe they could be friends later, but right now Stiles’ heart still felt raw. He’d spent six solid days since Derek had sorta dumped him, and he’d spent every single second thinking about him.

He shook his head to displace the thoughts. His missed call notification glowed from the face of his phone. He unlocked it, deleted the notification. He almost deleted Derek’s contact too, but with all the supernatural bullshit they had to put up with, that would have been a counterproductive move. Not worth the catharsis.

He logged into his WOW account and tried to find a few people to play with. He still couldn’t get Derek Hale out of a single crevice in his mind.

He was proud, however, at the fact that he didn’t let himself sad jerk off to thoughts of Derek’s body, lips, and hands. So that was a first for the week.

-

“Derek’s acting weird,” Isaac said at lunch the next Monday.

“Derek is always weird,” Stiles said, trying not to think about how quickly his brain derailed from the discussion of possibly going camping next weekend at the mention of Derek’s name.

“Derek’s being exceptionally weird,” Isaac said. “Reclusive. Snappy. Mopey. It’s annoying.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Stiles asked, giving Isaac the most confrontational look possible.

“Go make up with him. Then make out with him. He’s obviously miserable,” Isaac said.

“He was the one who didn’t want me,” Stiles said. “He probably thinks I’m too clingy and a bad kisser too. Go find him a not clingy good kisser.”

“Oh, honey,” Lydia said, taking a bite of the lunch she brought from home. She never ate cafeteria food. “You’re a fine kisser. Not bad at all. Maybe a little adventurous with your tongue, but in a usually fun way.” Stiles gave her a half smile.

Before Derek, the news that Lydia Martin thought that he was a good kisser would have made him instantly come in his jeans. Now it felt more like a motherly pat on the head. Pretty neutral, though still nice. It did feel good to know that he and Lydia had lost their post-break up awkwardness. Getting past it was never a guarantee, which is why it’s not always a good idea to start kissing your friends. Stiles tried very hard to ignore the memories of the days when he thought that kissing Derek would never lead to pain, and would be a generally good idea.

“We could take him camping with us,” Allison said. “Cheer him up a bit.”

“Allison, you are officially voted off the island,” Stiles said. “Remember how awful it was after you and Scott broke up? Imagine camping with him after that.”

“We can’t just leave him behind. He’s sad,” Isaac said.

“Since when do you care what happens to Derek Hale?” Stiles asked.

“I care since making him potentially happy will make you miserable,” Isaac said. Scott kicked him under the table. Stiles and Isaac’s relationship was still chugging along at a steady struggle.

“Maybe we should just not go camping,” Lydia said. “Sounds like hurt feelings all around.”

-

In the end, Isaac, Scott, and Allison decided to go alone. Fine. Go have as much sex as you want in the woods, Stiles thought. He didn’t even care.

He cared a lot. Though he was glad he wouldn’t have to share a tent with Derek.

-

“Please come with us,” Scott begged. It was officially two weeks since Derek had broken up with him. He had a hefty collection of unanswered and unreturned phone calls and a text message from every day since the first call. Each was the same. _Please call me_. Stiles hadn’t called.

“I’m not going into the wolf’s den. It’ll be a disaster,” Stiles argued, his resolution on not hanging out with everyone tonight at Derek’s was thick. Thick as steel. Thick as carbon fibre. Thick as molasses. Thick as syrup. Thick as...ugh. Water.

“I’ll protect you,” Scott said. And because Scott only had the best intentions, Stiles said yes. But he drove separately, and reserved the right to leave whenever he wanted. Like immediately, for example.

-

He was almost offended that Derek’s building looked exactly the same on the outside. Stiles wasn’t exactly the same. Scott pressed the buzzer for his apartment, and they all piled into the elevator, Stiles, Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Lydia. Lydia gave his hand a little squeeze before the elevator doors opened on the eleventh floor, and Stiles only barely held back a groan.

Scott didn’t even knock as he walked in.

“Hey Derek,” he called. Stiles was at the back of the group, and couldn’t see anyone inside yet.

“Hey guys,” Derek’s voice shouted from the bedroom, and Stiles’ stomach dropped. He’d missed hearing Derek’s voice more than he was willing to admit. He got a sudden flood of everything that he’d missed. Getting cozy on Derek’s couch, the way Derek’s sheets felt against his cheek, the way Derek used to follow him around the room as though they had some kind of proximity charm cast on them. He only got three feet into the apartment before he got his first urge to turn tail and run.

“Stiles,” Derek said, the surprise on his face clear as he walked into the room. He was wearing a tight henley that bunched where it was rolled up on his forearms, and the scruff on his face looked like it was at least a day past where he usually kept it. He gave Stiles a look that he couldn’t read.

“Oh shit, look at the time,” Allison said, and suddenly his friends had dipped out of the apartment. Stiles could hear their feet padding quickly down the hall before he could even process the fact that they were leaving him alone with Derek.

Derek let out a sad little laugh. “These are the lengths they have to go to to get you in the same room with me, I guess,” Derek said. His eyes were sadder than Stiles had ever seen them. Derek usually wavered around angry. Grumpy at least. He’d seen him happy plenty of times too, especially between the start and stop of their brief...whatever it was. He’d never seen Derek’s eyes look so hopeless.

“I can leave, if you want,” Stiles said, hoping that Derek would let him go, but also never wanting to ever be out of Derek’s presence.

“Please don’t,” Derek said. He was clearly struggling through what he was supposed to do now that they were back together. “Do you want a drink?” he asked, and Stiles nodded emphatically. Yes. A drink would help a lot.

Derek poured him the same whiskey he’d given him on the night that Lydia had broken up with him. He hadn’t kissed Derek on that night, but he thought of it as the start of something. The liquor tasted like late night kisses, and reassuring text messages, and the surprising softness of the palms of Derek’s hands. It tasted like how hard it was to not talk to him for two weeks.

“I miss you,” Derek started, after downing his entire drink in one gulp, the way he’d advised Stiles was the incorrect way all those weeks ago. Stiles kept slowly sipping at his, savoring it as something to do so he didn’t have to look at Derek, knowing that when he was done with his drink, he’d probably have to go home. The last sip would taste like how it felt to walk out of this apartment, closing this chapter of his life forever.

“I’m not sure what I can do about that,” Stiles said. Derek just wanted trust and sex. Stiles wanted… Derek made Stiles want everything.

“Stay. Stay with me. I’m not sure how to make this work, but I shouldn’t have told you to stop. I just thought that you deserved to know-”

“I know. That you were uncomfortable with my feelings for you.” Stiles felt his face heat with the embarrassment of those words. He wasn’t sure why it was so horrible to admit that you feel much more strongly for someone than they do for you. He just knew that it felt like being strung up by a meat hook.

“What?” Derek asked.

Stiles only clarified because he couldn’t imagine making more of an ass of himself. “You saw the book and the fucking pie and noticed how clingy I was getting and you thought ‘ _hey, I told this kid I’d kiss him but wasn’t looking for anything romantic_.’”

“When did I say I wasn’t looking for anything romantic?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles as though they had been in completely different relationship over the past few months.

“At the beginning. You said-”

“I said I was looking for trust. And then I established that I trusted you. I wanted that. I wanted my next romantic relationship to grow out of a foundation of trust. I thought you knew that I meant for this to be romantic. That I want to be your boyfriend.” Stiles felt like a stupid kid.

“I thought you wouldn’t have sex with me because you knew I didn’t want to do it casually and so when you saw me getting attached you had to cut the cord. Let me know that it was supposed to be a casual thing.”

“Stiles, I knew you didn’t want casual sex, so I wanted to tell you that I love you before we had sex. I wanted to give you more than just sex.” Derek’s voice cracked. Stiles looked into his eyes for the first time since they began this conversation. He’d been wrong before. They didn’t look sad. They looked exhausted. Ruined. He looked like he might have been crying, or like he hadn’t gotten any decent sleep lately. Stiles still thought he looked stupidly beautiful.

“You what?” Stiles asked in a tiny whisper.

“Stiles, I fell in love with you. And I didn’t understand why you ran off that day.”

“I brought you a fruit tart,” Stiles said, brain hazy with what was happening.

“Another reason I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t answer my calls. Scott asked me why I had broken up with you. I didn’t realize that I had.” He reached across the small gap between them and took Stiles’ hand. “I missed you.”

Stiles took his hand and pulled him close, pressed in as tight as he could, and wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders. He pressed their cheeks together, ran his hands though Derek’s thick hair, and finally pulled back only enough to kiss him. He kissed him the way he had two weeks before, with a gentle insistence. With a declaration. But this time with something else too. A request for permission.

“Team Polyamory has been nagging me to talk about our relationship with you,” Stiles admitted when he broke the kiss, leaving Derek looking like he didn’t fully understand what was going on. He pressed another kiss to Derek’s lips before going on. “But I was too cocky for that. Actually too nervous. Way too nervous. Nervous to fuck this up. Because I thought even using the word ‘relationship’ in front of you would make you run away.”

“Never,” Derek said, letting his hands cup Stiles’ jaw as he stole a kiss. Stiles couldn’t believe that he’d spent two weeks without this. Two weeks thinking that Derek didn’t want him. And now he had to spend the rest of his life knowing that he should always just listen to Scott, and Stiles didn’t know if he was ready for that.

Derek pressed him up against the fridge, gripped his hips, let his fingertips trail over the bumps of every one of Stiles’ ribs. His kisses moved to Stiles’ neck.

“Couch or bedroom?” Derek asked, pulling away to look into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles was hanging onto Derek’s shoulders like he was about to be forcefully separated.

“Bedroom?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” Derek said.

“Bedroom,” Stiles confirmed, and Derek herded Stiles down the hall, his hands on the small of Stiles’ back, urging him forward. Stiles crawled onto Derek’s bed, the bed he had only woken up in once. He found the middle and propped himself up on his elbows crooking a finger to beckon Derek to him. Derek crawled after him, catching Stiles’ lips in a kiss as he guided Stiles down, flat on his back. Stiles though he could feel how quickly Derek’s heart was beating, but maybe it was his own.

Derek kept kissing him for longer than Stiles could stand. Stiles was used to suffering through his erections when he made out with Derek in the past. It was all fairly chaste, and Stiles knew the boundaries. Derek’s dick had been off-limits. Tonight was different though. Stiles could feel the slight stutter of Derek’s hips as he struggled between what he wanted and the control he was used to needing. He snaked a hand between them and cupped Derek’s bulge through his jeans.

Finally Stiles pushed Derek off of him and onto his back, and straddled his waist. “I just realized that I didn’t say it back. I mean it back. I thought it back. I wanted to say it back. I haven’t said it back yet. Fuck.”

“Then fucking say it,” Derek said. His lips were swollen in exactly the way Stiles loved, and he pressed one hand over Derek’s heart before he smiled.

“I love you.”

Derek beamed at him, returned the declaration, and ripped Stiles’ shirt off. He wasn’t fucking around anymore. They detangled themselves for just long enough to disrobe. It wasn’t very romantic, just the two of them mostly taking off their own clothes. When they were both bare, Derek directed Stiles back to the center of the bed and ran a reassuring hand over his skin.

Everything had been fast two seconds before, but as soon as Stiles was laying out in front of him, Derek slowed down. He trailed kisses from Stiles’ jaw to his chest, teeth worrying his collarbone, rough pink tongue flicking over pert nipples. He dipped his tongue into Stiles’ belly button and nibbled on his hips a bit before he paused hovering over the curve of Stiles’ dick.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice rough from arousal.

“Yes, yes, please, yes,” Stiles said, pushing back up onto an elbow so he could watch exactly what Derek’s mouth was about to do to him. Derek licked up his shaft, finishing with a flick of his tongue on the tip.

Derek kept one hand on Stiles’ thigh, stroking slowly to ground him. “Is this okay?” he asked, looking up into Stiles’ eyes.

“It’s way past okay. Please, please keep going,” Stiles said. He was hoping it didn’t sound like begging to Derek, because it kind of sounded like begging to Stiles.

Derek took just the head into his mouth as he slowly began stroking the base with his hand. Derek’s mouth was warm and engulfing, and Stiles’ hips jerked involuntarily as Derek pulled slowly back. It felt better than anything Stiles had ever done before. He thought it would feel more or less like it felt when he jerked off in a hot shower with body wash, but it was nothing like that.

Until this point, every ounce of pleasure Stiles had ever gotten from his dick had been at his own hand. Now, Derek controlled everything. Having someone else touch you immediately felt better, hotter, wilder, sweeter, nicer. He watched himself slip slowly into Derek’s mouth until Derek’s nose was nestled into the bed of his pubic hair. He could feel the press of Derek’s tongue on the underside of his dick, and the taut circle of his lips around the base of his dick. His head swam with the combined sight and feel of it.

Derek sucked and licked and kissed. He let one of his hands play with Stiles’ balls, and Stiles sighed, feeling, for the first ever time in his life, like the feeling of his approaching orgasm was unfortunate news.

“Whatever you’re doing is super effective,” Stiles choked out, threading the fingers of one hand through Derek’s hair. Derek looked up at him with a cocky smile, and began delivering his motions faster, sucking harder. His tongue pressed harder against his dick, and he used his hand to pump the base of his dick while his mouth worked on the tip.

Stiles came almost silently, though he certainly wasn’t still. His body spasmed, his arms shook, his chest heaved heavy breath after heavy breath. Derek only pulled away after Stiles was done riding out his orgasm, a smile playing on his lips as he licked them.

“That’s obscene,” Stiles said. “I want to do it a thousand more times.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Derek said, his smile a little more shy after laying down next to Stiles. He looked happy and content, which was a look that Stiles wanted to dedicate his life to. Derek was still hard, so Stiles pressed in close to him, kissed his orgasm right off of Derek’s lips, and reached for Derek’s erection between them.

Derek’s dick felt so different from his own. It was thicker and slightly longer, and lacked that slight curve his own had. Plus, it was Derek’s, which meant that touching him made Derek sigh and gasp and moan, each one feeling like a present, a little reward. Jerking someone else off lacked the instant feedback loop that he had when he masturbated, but the sounds that Derek was making was a good enough roadmap.

Derek pressed Stiles back into the mattress, devouring their kiss as he thrusted his hips up into Stiles’ tight grip. Stiles thought he should try to vary his motions, try to be creative, but he couldn’t think of anything with Derek’s hazel eyes so close to his own, Derek’s breath on his ear. It was distracting, and Derek seemed pretty content with the thrusting he was doing. Stiles decided to not worry about it. After this he wouldn’t be a hand job virgin anymore and he could work on technique. Until then, he let himself enjoy the weight of Derek in his hand, the feel of Derek’s lips on his own, the knowledge that he was losing his virginity in the exact bed he wanted to with the exact man.

Derek’s thrusts became shorter, and Stiles tightened his grip as Derek’s orgasm spilled over his fingers and onto his stomach. Derek’s kiss went from intense to distracted as his orgasm shot through his body, and he rested his forehead against Stiles’ as he came down.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said, their eyes so close together Stiles could have sworn he could see entire galaxies in Derek’s.

“Sex is awesome,” Stiles said, immediately moving to press their bodies back together, but Derek held him where he was and grabbed a few tissues off his night stand.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a little.” Derek wiped him clean before pulling him close, kissing his jaw slowly up to his ear. He placed one little kiss in the space behind his ear. Stiles could feel the smile on Derek’s lips. He could get used to this.

-

“You could have made so many better choices over the past few weeks,” Scott said the next day.

“I’ll give you the link to that poly message board. Read about communication strategies, please,” Allison said.

“That's my boy,” Lydia winked.

“You’re possibly the stupidest person I know,” Isaac said.

Stiles dropped his head to the table at the diner they were all getting dinner at. He was an idiot. But Derek’s hand came up to rub his shoulders.

“I love you,” he said. Stiles could tolerate the I-told-you-so’s for that.

**Author's Note:**

> Obsessively reblogging every photo of a smiling Tyler Hoechlin on my [tumblr.](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com)


End file.
